


better days (back when we were young)

by wasted_potential_007



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Heavy Angst, Hydra (Marvel), Post-HYDRA Reveal, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Tagging as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 19:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18058892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasted_potential_007/pseuds/wasted_potential_007
Summary: after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., Phil's a bit understaffed. enter a team of S.H.I.E.L.D's best, each grappling with the effects of the collapse. plus there's repressed feelings, events from the past, potential violence, and fury's A+ delegation.ora fic created from frustration at Marvel for not showing how the collapse of an organization affects its key players.(compliant with both AOS and CA:TWS/onwards)-All rights go to Marvel Studios.





	better days (back when we were young)

**Author's Note:**

> alright, i'm finally doing a multichapter blackhill fic. 
> 
> this has been sitting in my doc for like six-ish? months now and i wanted to wait until i finished this whole thing until i posted it, but that just isn't happening with time constraints and stuff. hopefully i won't abandon this fic like all my other WIPs (technically they're not abandoned.. just on haitus whoops).
> 
> anyways i'm kinda nervous. it's a bit long too. hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> \---
> 
> all words in "<<>>" indicate words are said in Russian. also unbetaed. all mistakes are mine.

* * *

  _\---_

_“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.”_

_\---_

* * *

  _6 weeks after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D_

_New York City, New York_

_\---_

Maria grumbles as she slams down the phone, running a hand through her hair ruthlessly, as if the strands on her head were the cause of her frustrations. It’s a Friday and she’s supposed to be off work tomorrow, but she knows she’ll come in anyway. Her job at Stark Industries isn’t particularly glamorous, per se, but it keeps her thoughts at bay so it’s enough.

Sometimes, she just screens potential clients and makes sure their motivations are somewhat pure. But there are days when they’re dealing with larger buyers and Maria’s forced to people-wrangle for hours on end, a headset permanently attached to her ear.

She can’t stop her mind on days like these and she hates herself for being like this: anxious and tightly-wound and totally, completely, empty.

It’s the thoughts of S.H.I.E.L.D. that creep into her mind when she’s talking to a buyer from Indonesia or Germany; thoughts of the virus that was HYDRA, of the Helicarriers falling out from the sky, of the feeling of knowing one’s been manipulated, strings pulled like a little puppet without their knowledge.

But without S.H.I.E.L.D (or more accurately, HYDRA) she feels like she’s empty, completely discombobulated and ripped to shambles because that organization had been such a key part of her, almost embedded inside her DNA.

Without it, she feels like she’s no one; another speck in the universe that has failed, fucked up.

Maria clenches her jaw as the phone starts ringing again, accepting it quickly as another official starts jabbering in a heavily-accented voice through the headset.

Her mind strays once again with the feeling of the headset covering her ears, bringing her back to the main Helicarrier, commandeering agents and she can’t help but wonder which commands she yelled were HYDRA’s, what the true motivation behind them was. The thought fills her with disgust, reminding her of how easily she played into their hands; she’d approved Project Insight, after all, helped Fury understand the then-necessity to such an armory.

A pang of- nausea, maybe, hits her in her core and Maria knows she hasn’t been eating enough (when was her last meal, she wonders) and it feels like the wind’s been taken out of her, like a sucker-punch to the gut.

“ _Madame, you have to understand…”_

She can feel a headache coming on, her stomach still in shreds and she’s spiraling down, the Frenchman in her ear only worsening the situation as her mind swims with thoughts of what she was (a puppet who believed in a cause) versus what she is now (a fish, letting life sweep her anywhere, helpless to stop the currents).

Maria dips her head down, holding it by the hands as she attempts to recenter herself; tries to focus on the voice seeping through the headset and slowly, she can sense her body returning to her even though she really feels nothing.

_“...we have many needs, as I’ve explained already…”_

Maria pulls up the company’s request and looks it over even though she’s memorized it already; it’s just another way to keep her occupied at night when there’s nothing but silence and an empty room.

She knows she’s empty inside but for now, the tasks at hand can keep her engrossed, if only long enough to keep the thoughts away.

The Frenchman continues to talk and she continues to do her job, reminding herself that this is supposed to be enough.

* * *

 It’s 2200 and raining when she steps out of the office, droplets splashing on the streets and creating puddles so muddled one could only see a silhouette inside (it’s an oddly appropriate metaphor, Maria thinks). There’s no umbrella to protect her from the rain pouring down from the sky as she walks briskly, the water soaking her hair.

Maria keeps her head down as she trots, trying to keep the water out of her eyes and avoiding any gazes from strangers.

The lights pouring out of storefronts, street lights, light up the sidewalk until there are none and she’s left in the dark, only a stray lamp here or there guiding her the fifteen blocks to the boxing gym close to her apartment.

The rain lessens a little as she walks into the brightly-lit building, the white lights hurting her eyes a little as she rushes to the locker room. She strips with efficiency, quickly changing before pulling her hair back tightly and wrapping it into a bun.

Here, she’s Deputy Director Maria Hill, not some agent who was manipulated into fighting for the wrong cause.        

She wraps her hands and stretches a little before walking up to a punching bag, striking it a couple of times before moving on to pummeling it with jabs, hooks, kicks, anything, _everything_. Maria knows she’s an unbridled force here, each connection with the black bag vibrating through her body and it only pushes her to go harder, faster, stronger.

It’s only her, the bag in front of her, and the bright fluorescent lights; no anxieties of failure, no self-loathing for her incompetence as the Deputy Director, no feelings of confusion and being lost.

She finally stops swinging only when the owner tells her they’re closing up; it’s already almost 2345.

The air outside is cool against the beads of sweat dripping from her face and she briskly walks the four blocks to her apartment, unlocking the three locks on her door and stumbling inside.

She quickly steps into the shower, too tired to think about how the water pressure in her building is almost as bad as the Helicarrier’s and steps out a couple of minutes later, drying her hair and putting on a t-shirt and boyshorts.

Maria collapses onto her bed moments later, letting the exhaustion wash over her and falling asleep.

* * *

 It’s routine now, Maria’s day: a jog in the morning, work, the punching bag, apartment, only broken when she’s interviewed (really, interrogated) by idiotic government agencies falling backward trying to cover up their asses. She normally talks to Fury after she’s let out of one of those sessions, reports what she’s revealed, what they’ve asked. In return, she receives bits and pieces of information; only what she needs to know.

She doesn’t expect much else.

But the routine provides her structure so she keeps it because structure can establish purpose, a direction, and she might be lying to herself if she says she doesn’t crave it. Besides, she’s experienced worse.

The thoughts of S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA and her manipulation subside just a little, but they don’t ever completely leave her mind. They’re there with every phone call, with every thrumming sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air, with every waking step she takes.

She stares into the mirror one morning and she doesn’t recognize herself, her features gaunt, cheeks sunken in her face, and it should be alarming but she doesn’t _feel_ worried; instead, she just thinks of the stack of files sitting on her desk and a report waiting to be completed.

That night, she’s about to pass out from sheer exhaustion, her knuckles bloodied and bruised when her cell phone vibrates with an unknown number flashing on its screen.

“Hello?”

“Come out of your apartment. Two blocks down, there’s a small park with a brass bench,” a male’s voice says seriously, but Maria can detect kind undertones in it.

“What’s the magic word, Coulson?”

Maria can hear Phil sigh from the other end as he replies, “Rubber duck.”

A pause.

“Hill, you do know it’s supposed to be one word, not two, right?”

“Does it look like I care?” Maria retorts and she hears Phil chuckle slightly, the sound the warmest thing she’s heard in the past two months. Maria gives turns towards the nearest window and gives it a little wave, smirking slightly when she sees a glint of metal on the opposite roof.

“Guilty as charged,” Phil says, amusement laced in his tone. “Be there, Hill.”

The line goes dead, and only then does Maria allow herself to let out a small smile as she slips on a pair of pants and yanks on her boots, tugging on a leather jacket over her t-shirt. She dashes out the door a moment later, grabbing her phone and keys as she locks the door behind her.

The summer air is warm, humid, even in the blanket of the night as Maria walks quickly to the park she’s only passed by a couple of times. A figure’s already sitting on the metal bench and Maria approaches them efficiently, cutting across the lawn.

“The word’s kangaroo,” Maria says curtly and Phil lifts his head, giving her a slight nod in response.

“A shady park in the middle of the night. You’ve really kept your edge, Coulson,” Maria comments, sitting down beside him in one fluid motion.

“Yeah,” Phil scoffs, “we both know the only reason I’m here now is because some alien died for me.”

Maria feels her jaw tighten at the words and she shifts her position, her elbows rested on her knees, her head rested upon her hands as she stares forward. She recalls May confronting her after a congressional hearing, a couple of days after the Helicarriers had fallen out of the sky, then the events afterward involving Ward and Garrett, the chaos from HYDRA, Coulson confronting her with the mess that was T.A.H.I.T.I.

“I didn’t think it was necessary for you to be informed, Coulson.”

“I’m aware,” Phil replies, pausing for a beat. “You and Fury have always held your cards close to your chest.”

They sit in silence for a couple of moments, Maria thinking back to assisting Coulson, back when she’d believed her previous life could return to her, only to be released back to Stark a few days later, and she feels her shoulders tensing up.

“Why are you here, Phil?”

The words are rushed, Maria notices, even as she watches Phil pause.

“Did you know I’ve been tasked by Fury to rebuild SHIELD?”

“Fury didn’t tell me,” Maria replies, and there’s that sinking feeling again, welling up in her chest.

“That’s surprising,” Phil comments, waiting for a moment before continuing.

“It’s a hard task, as you probably know, and I’m dealing with threats from the outside while trying to make sure there are none on the inside,” he takes a deep breath.

“Basically, I’m asking for help.”

Maria dips her head and runs her hands through her hair, letting out a small sigh as her head swims, clouding her head slightly. “I wasn’t able to keep HYDRA out last time. What makes you think it’ll be any different this time around?”

“I’m not asking you to keep HYDRA out, Maria. That’s on me.” Phil sighs, clasping his hands together before meeting Maria’s eyes.

“There’re a lot of threats out there, Hill. I’ve got a team already, but we’re swamped as is. And I’m short-staffed and recruiting is… slow.”

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

“And you’re no use as Stark’s flying monkey.”

“You’re asking me to join SHIELD again? To build a unit? A team?”

“If that’s what you think is best, then yes.” Phil stands up, placing a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “You’ll be given free rein, Maria, and only I would know about whatever you decide to put together.” Phil pauses for a moment, “I trust you’ll recruit only what you know.”

Maria feels the hand disappear as Phil starts to walk away, taking a couple of steps before stopping for a moment, a discernible glint in his eye as he turns his head slightly.

“I’ve heard Romanoff’s in Russia.”

* * *

_10 weeks after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._

_Kaliningrad, Russia_

\---

“<<Shit!>>” Natasha curses as gunfire explodes around her, lighting up the dim street and shattering glass window that she’d been crouching in front of a moment before, perched upon the metal balcony. A bullet streaks past her arm, singeing her skin but she ignores it.

She’d been staking out the HYDRA base across the street, a run-down-looking warehouse that probably contains enough gunpowder to level a small city, and it feels all too familiar.

Natasha jumps from balcony to balcony, grabbing onto a fire escape and climbing up to the rooftop. She hoists her body over the wall quickly and immediately crouches down behind the bricks, leaning her back against the surface only after she’s certain no one is following her.

Her thoughts drift back to the HYDRA building and she knows it was foolish to try to take on such a large base in the first place.

But she’d worked for them, even if under a different name.

She’d been manipulated by them, a pawn in a long-term chess match in which she’d had no control over. Even when she’d worked for the KGB, when she was a ruthless cold-blooded killer who lived for the blood on her hands, she’d at least known whom she was killing for.

She had been in control then. She’d thought she was in control under S.H.I.E.L.D. as well.

Natasha lets out a spiteful bark of laughter at her own foolishness, gently shaking her head as she tends to the flesh wound on her right arm. The cloth is already torn at the wound and Natasha digs out a piece of fabric, wrapping it tightly around her upper arm to stop the bleeding.

The pain doesn’t bother her as much as it should as she stands back up, dusting her suit off lightly before taking two jumps back down the building, landing in the back alley gracefully. Her coat is right where she left it and Natasha tugs it on quickly, ignoring the sharp pain from her right arm.

Here, even with the feeling of blood seeping into fabric, she is in control, and the thought comforts her as she bends down to pick up her heels.

No one bats an eye at the lone figure walking in the evening, the sun long gone, the stars and moon not quite bright enough to shine through the clouds.

She approaches a dirty-looking building, climbing up five flights of stairs to reach a grimy door and quickly unlocking it.

The thoughts of HYDRA continue to invade her mind as she pulls out her first-aid kit, noticing the dwindling amount of supplies in it, contrary to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s (really, HYDRA’s) fully-stocked medical supplies closet and it’s another reminder of the life she used to live.

As Natasha digs out a bottle of vodka, splashing it on the angry wound, she reminds herself that it’s better this way; she knows whose lies she’s telling.

(hint: they’re totally, completely, her own and it’s different than anything she’s experienced before.)

She takes a swig of the vodka, appreciating the burn in her throat, and leans against the wall, the tile cool underneath the fabric of her suit.

And she vows, again, to take out those HYDRA bases, one by one, make them feel even an ounce of what she’s gone through. And if it means she’ll never live a stable life again, fuck it, because this is what she’s made to do.

Always, the bill comes due.

* * *

 “Natalia,” a shadow says, their face shrouded in darkness in the dead of the night. “<<Little spider. What did I tell you?>>”

“<<It doesn’t matter,>>” Natasha replies, slowly approaching the figure. The only light is far away, flickering in the distance and there is only darkness: it’s better, safer this way. “<<I will get them eventually.>>”

“<<You will die,>>” the voice warns.

“<<And when that day comes, I’ll tell you first,>>” Natasha replies curtly, pausing for a moment before continuing. “<<Do you have anything for me?>>”

“<<I always do.>>”

A beat.

“<<A base thirty kilometers north of Moscow. Be especially careful on this one, little spider. I hate to see you get hurt.>>”

Natasha slips him a wad of bills and there’s the sound of boots hitting gravel as the man trots away. Her informants have always been sparse, acquaintances she’s made over the years, figures who would give her information with the right kind of incentive. And Natasha’s more than happy to pay the price.

She walks back to the safehouse slowly, taking her time in the cold bite of the air; even though it’s late summer, it’s still Russia. The moment she walks up to the apartment door, she can sense something is different, and Natasha fiddles with the trigger of the Glock in her overcoat as she cracks open the door.

The light is already on inside and Natasha pulls out her gun in one fluid motion, holding it level, her arms completely straight.

“Relax, Romanoff. No one’s here to kill you,” someone says.

A chill goes down her spine.

(she could recognize that voice from anywhere.)

“Hill,” Natasha says curtly, masking her surprise with a cold, hard stare at the woman standing in the middle of her apartment.

Seeing Maria comes as a bit of a shock and Natasha shoves down the memories that are boiling up, the instinct to walk up to Maria and check that she’s okay.

“Nice place you got here,” Maria notes, surveying the grimy walls and the bare mattress on the floor. “You can put the gun down now, you know.”

Natasha lowers her arms, tucking the weapon back into a holster on her suit as she takes in Maria’s appearance: sharp jawline, clear blue eyes, a tight bun. It takes her a moment to notice the slight slouch in Hill’s posture and if were anyone else, they would’ve thought Hill was completely normal. But Natasha can see the bags under Hill’s eyes, the way her fists and jaw clench, how tense her shoulders are.

“A phone call would have sufficed,” Natasha comments.

“You would have ignored it,” Maria retorts, crossing her arms. “Especially since you’d have known it was from me.”

“Besides, I don’t have your number.”

Natasha takes the time to walk to the side, away from the door, her heels barely making any sound against the tile flooring and Maria doesn’t move under the scrutiny of Natasha’s gaze. Green eyes burn into blue, slowly, surely, like a fire that could grow larger than any of them could control.

(maria pulls away after a second. maria always pulls away.)

“You have no right to be here, Hill,” Natasha replies and the glare she shoots is something that could smolder any normal being, but Maria isn’t normal in any way. “Not since HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD.”

“HYDRA had always been there, Romanoff,” Maria automatically fires back, hiding the sting of Natasha’s words with a steely glare. “Pulling strings, manipulating us.”

“You approved Project Insight.”

“And many of your targets were HYDRA’s.”

Maria pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath while running a hand through her hair, and Natasha observes how strained Hill looks. She takes a step closer to Natasha as she continues.

“We’re all victim-”

“Don’t call me that,” Natasha cuts off, taking a step further away from Maria, still keeping her stare level to Maria’s eyes. “Why are you here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be working for Stark?”

“Technically I am. It’s been termed ‘off-site work’ by Pepper.”

“So why are you here?”

Maria pauses for a moment, if only for dramatic effect. “Phil talked to me.”

Maria hands Natasha a thick file folder, documents spilling from the edges and Natasha takes it, leafing through the papers quickly, furrowing her eyebrows as she skims the images and word-heavy reports.

“Phil’s alive,” Natasha says, closer to a statement than a question. “And he’s head of S.H.I.E.L.D.? What happened to _you_?”

“Good question,” Maria replies. “I’m not sure. But he’s asked for my help.”

“And you’re asking for mine,” Natasha states.

A beat.

“Yes,” Maria acknowledges.

“He wants me to build a small team, promised me full transparency on every task he assigns. You’d work under S.H.I.E.L.D. again, but not as an agent, more like a- contractor, or an asset,” Maria lists, and she can see Natasha’s eyebrows raise, her eyes widen in response.

“And how can you be sure this will be any different than last time?” Natasha asks, shutting the file with a soft _thump_ and Maria can hear the hidden meaning behind the question.

_“How can you be sure we won’t become puppets again?”_

Maria takes a step forward, taking her time before answering. “No one would know this exists, other than Coulson. Hell, we could have our own base, if we wanted."

Natasha pauses for a moment and Maria can read the hesitancy in her stance, her eyes, her expression as she continues to stare at Maria, a fire in her clear blue eyes.

“And what’s keeping me from staying here?”

Maria can hear the hidden message behind the words and a part of her understands what Romanoff’s doing: exterminating HYDRA in a one-woman crusade, free from all expectations and limitations except her own, her only obstacle the threat of death, no hallways full of bureaucratic red tape to be found. She takes a step closer to Natasha anyway, preparing to respond.

“You’re telling me you don’t miss the old life?” Maria asks, her voice quiet at first, taking another stride forward, growing closer to Natasha’s proximity. “We had direction, a purpose there. Here, you have, what, a dingy apartment? Questionable intel? Not even enough bandages to patch up a flesh wound?”

Maria motions towards Natasha’s right arm, still bandaged and bleeding from the bullet graze the day before and she can see Natasha’s jaw tighten, lock up a little further.

“I don’t fully trust you, Hill. You’ve given me no reason to,” Natasha spits out, her tone spiteful as she recalls Fury’s temporary death and something else, buried deep.

Maria recoils slightly from the words as Natasha continues, her voice dropping in volume, losing its hard tone.

“But give me one more reason to ditch all of this, and I’ll go.”

There’s a certain _vulnerability_ in Natasha’s eyes that Maria hasn’t seen since, well, _before;_  a slight flicker in Natasha’s green pools.

“Give me a chance to earn that trust back, Romanoff,” Maria suddenly says, her voice softer this time, losing the hard edge it had contained minutes before. She stares into Natasha’s eyes for a couple more moments before finally pulling away, noticing how Natasha’s still standing there.

There’s a moment where neither of them move and Maria feels the air around them growing thicker as she turns her head back, meeting Natasha’s eyes and feeling them pierce into her soul.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

A car alarm goes off in the distance, cutting through the silence and the spell is broken, both of them turning away instantaneously.

“I’m also planning on grabbing Barton,” Maria says after a moment, letting out a smirk as she watches Natasha freeze for a second before storming off to grab a bag from inside a cabinet. She notices it’s already packed as Natasha strides up to her, a fire in the green eyes she hasn’t seen in a long time.

“When do we leave?”

* * *

  _11 weeks after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._

_Undisclosed, United States of America_

\---

“Lila, sweetheart, you have to go to bed,” Clint says, scooping the four-year-old up gently in his arms. He carries her through their living room, taking care to not trip over or step on the Legos splayed across the floor in a disorderly fashion.

“Not fair!” The girl pouts, throwing her arms around her dad’s neck. “How come Cooper doesn’t have to go s’eep?”

“Because I’m older!” Cooper shouts triumphantly, in the process of putting together a puzzle on the coffee table with his mom.

“Coop, please be nice to your sister,” Laura chastises, a kind tone to her voice. “Lila, can you say goodnight?”

“G’night,” Lila mumbles, tucking her head in the crook of her dad’s shoulder as Clint strokes the back of her head gently, walking into the hallway where their bedrooms are. He can hear Cooper and Laura in the other room, talking about the puzzle and school and whatnot, their voices slowly fading away as he walks into Lila’s room.

Clint gently sets his daughter down onto the ground, motioning for her to grab his hand.

“Come on,” Clint says, “let’s go brush your teeth.”

Lila tiredly grabs onto his hand, her grubby fingers clutching on tightly as she steps onto the stool in front of the sink.

“What do we say, sweetheart?” Clint asks, holding out her toothbrush while she squirts a little berry-flavored toothpaste onto the bristles.

“Right and up…” Lila mumbles as the toothbrush is guided into her mouth, Clint crouching in front of her, “Up and center…”

Clint’s mind wanders as his daughter repeats the familiar string of words, thinking to the bow stashed in his dresser, the arrows tucked underneath the mattress.

It’s still a shock to him, knowing S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t the organization he’d thought it was, almost similar to the feeling of Loki turning him inside out.

He’d been manipulated again, unmade by something he thought was safe, concrete.

“Daddy?” Lila asks, jerking Clint back into the bathroom. “I finished the words.”

“Oh,” Clint says, “okay.”

He pauses for a moment, attempting to regain his focus.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Daddy, I still need to pee,” Lila says after a moment. “You forgot.”

“Silly me,” Clint mutters, slightly shaking his head. He steps outside of the bathroom, letting Lila have a semblance of privacy, feeling his head swim and his thoughts grow muddled.

“How could I be so stupid?” he mumbles, leaning against the wall, covering his face with his hands and rubbing his forehead for a couple of moments.

_(how could I let this happen again?)_

The rest of the night passes by in a haze as Clint tucks Lila into bed, kissing her forehead goodnight and keeping the nightlight on as he sits on a rocking chair in her room.

He recalls this moment, being able to tuck his kids in at night, a key reason of why he’d decided to take leave from S.H.I.E.L.D. for just a month, remembering how, at the time, he’d been so sure he would go back to being “Agent Barton” eventually.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had been his home when he’d had none, a family that he still feels proud to call himself a part of. Yet, he hadn’t been there for its destruction.

Clint doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, only that it was a Saturday morning when he’d turned on the TV and saw the footage of Helicarriers crashing down from the sky, destroying everything he’d been a part of with the switch of computer chips. Natasha had told him everything, of course, a couple of days later; Steve and his lost war friend-turned-super-assassin Bucky, a flying dude named Sam, Hill’s role in Fury’s “death.”

He can’t help but wonder about what would’ve happened if he’d been there, if S.H.I.E.L.D. would still be S.H.I.E.L.D.; if he’d still have a job and the people he’d learned to depend on.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on the door and Clint jerks his head up to see Laura standing at the doorway.

“Hey, there're some people here to see you.”

Clint stands up after a moment, slowly walking out of the bedroom and closing the door softly behind him. He plods down the hallway, his eyes adjusting to the light as he rubs them a little, turning the corner and stopping as he sees-

“Nat?” Clint asks, letting out a small grin at the sight of a certain red-haired agent, walking up and giving her a quick hug, feeling his shoulders relax slightly in her arms.

“What are you doing here?” he says, taking a step back. “Maria,” Clint acknowledges, giving her a slight nod and a warm handshake.

“We’ve got some matters we need to discuss,” Maria says.

“Oh,” Laura suddenly says, “I can leave if you need me to.”

Clint gives her an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he mouths, relaxing slightly when Laura whispers, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“Coulson’s alive,” Natasha suddenly says as the sounds of Laura’s footsteps disappear, “and he needs our help.”

Maria explains their circumstances, the events leading up to this point; Phil’s meeting with her in the park, his request to Maria, the need to create a unit.

“We’d be off the records the entire time. More like a group for hire, really,” Maria finishes, watching clint lean back into his chair, leaning his head on a hand as he slowly rubs his forehead.

“Natasha, you’re doing this?” Clint asks after a moment, still processing the information Maria’s just given him.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Clint, we need you,” Maria says, running a hand through her hair. “It’d be like working for SHIELD again, except there’d no reports to file, no required medbay visits.”

He pauses for a moment, leaning forward and looking up at the blue eyes across from him. “Who else are you planning to, I don’t know,” he dismisses his word choice with a slight wave, letting his hand thump onto the table, “recruit?”

Natasha has the decency to look interested in his question, turning her stare towards Maria as she waits for a response. Clint notices Maria’s jaw tighten under the scrutiny of Natasha’s gaze before she finally replies.

“No one else. Just you two.”

“Three people then?” Natasha questions. “That’s a little small for a team, no?”

Clint watches Maria finally tilt her head to return Natasha’s stare and he sees the way their eyes lock upon one another’s, Maria’s gaze steely as she keeps her jaw clenched.

“I don’t trust,” Maria puts a little too much emphasis on the last word to be considered accidental, “anyone else.”

They stare at each other a moment longer before Maria pulls away, and Clint lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding because really, he’d half-expected one of them to stab the other with the way they held eye contact.

“So,” Natasha asks, her tone carrying its normal teasing edge that for some reason, wasn’t there before, “are you on board?”

Clint thinks of S.H.I.E.L.D., his history, the way he feels like something’s missing without the organization, his absence during its fall.

“I’ll go talk to Laura.”

* * *

 The familiar thrum of the Quinjet fills the silence as Maria sits in the pilot’s seat, the passenger seat next to her empty with Clint sitting in the back and Natasha walking around, checking their supplies and weapons arsenal.

“So,” Clint suddenly says, shattering the silence, “what’re we calling this whole,” Maria can see his arms wave around in the corner of her eye, “shebang?”

“Did you seriously just use the word ‘shebang’ in a sentence?” Natasha replies, casually polishing a gun as she sits back down, taking the seat next to Clint.

“What? Is there anything wrong with it?” Clint challenges and Maria smirks slightly at their antics, flipping a switch to put the jet on autopilot and leaning back in her chair.

“No,” Maria answers, “but it’s a pretty stupid word.”

The two of them erupt in “aww man”’s and “see I told you”’s, their voices filling the back of the jet, as Maria looks back at the two of them for a moment.

“I was thinking about the name thing, actually,” Maria says after they’ve quieted down. “First thing that popped into mind was ‘Phil’s Super Secret Avengers.’”

“That _sucks_ ,” Natasha comments and Maria shoots her a small glare in response.

It’s silent for another couple of moments as they each brainstorm and Maria can feel her mind wandering to the potential implications of her actions but it’s shut down by the feeling of how _natural_ this feels, as if flying in a Quinjet with two master assassins was something she did every day.

(technically, it had been, except she can’t help but wonder if any of it was for the right cause.)

“You think we need to put a name on it?” Natasha asks. “For what? T-shirts or something?”

“Sounds like you’re opposed to it,” Maria replies.

“I just think there're enough toys with my name out there.”

“That’s a bit egotistical.”

“Or maybe I’m just being cautious.”

Maria pauses for a second, turning to look at Natasha, and there’s a moment where they’re staring each other down, fire burning in Natasha’s green eyes.

Then Natasha smirks, letting out a wry chuckle.

“Well, Clint could probably use the popularity boost.”

“Hey!” Clint yells out, putting his arms up defensively. “I make do with what I have, alright?”

“You use a bow and arrow,” Natasha retorts, “a weapon from the _medieval_ ages.”

Clint lets out a sputter and Maria holds back a laugh, turning her head back around to focus on the night sky in front of them. Natasha’s tone sounds- lighter, less serious, than what she encountered in Russia, as the two agents behind her catch up.

Clint seems to be faring better as well, even in the couple of hours that they’ve been in the air; from what she’s seen his movements are more fluid, the stressed expression she’d seen gone now, replaced with a happier look.

And as the Quinjet speeds off into the night, Maria can feel something clicking inside of her too, almost if another piece just fell into place.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! let me know what you think in the comments if you want :D
> 
> also you can find be on tumblr @spreadyourwings-likeicarusdid and yell at me there too (i do take prompts, but it normally takes some time to fill them whoops).


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